


Letter to Lancelot

by FutureAlien



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur is a dickhead but he means well, Epistolary, M/M, Mentions of Gwen/Arthur, idk what else to tag this just enjoy the ride lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FutureAlien/pseuds/FutureAlien
Summary: Two years after banishing him from Camelot, Arthur writes Lancelot a letter.
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 181





	Letter to Lancelot

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the Leonard Cohen song "Famous Blue Raincoat". I've been wanting to write this since forever but I never had the time, until I just sortof churned this all out at 4 AM because I was procastinating on my big old WIP. I hope you like it all the same. Please let me know what you thought, your kudos and comments mean the world to me <3

Lancelot,

It might come as a surprise for you to receive a letter from me after all these years. Do not get your hopes up too much. The reason I didn’t write before is because I had nothing to say to you, and you had no right to any correspondence with Camelot. As it is, however, I received news about your whereabouts from my newest squire. He will also be the one bringing you this letter. Please take mercy on him for betraying your location, he meant it well. A bit too well, in my opinion. If I have to hear one more word about how the noble knight of the forest inspired him to come to Camelot and serve the crown, I don’t know what I’ll do, but it won’t be pretty. 

I have already told the boy that you are no true knight. He does not seem to care about the king’s say in such matters, but maybe a clear explanation from you will help. So I suggest you get to that as soon as you finish reading this letter. Explain to him clearly that people who disobey their King, betray his trust and break their knightly vows, do not get to appeal to the title of knight anymore. It would do the boy well to take note of that. Maybe that’ll stop him from idolizing banished men.

It is that banishment that is the reason for this letter. I thought I had made it sufficiently clear that you were not to set foot in my kingdom ever again. And now I hear that you are living in the woods of Essetir. I truly hope you have kept yourself on the side of the forest that belongs to Cenred, for crossing on wrong path will mean that you’ve broken your banishment. I don’t think I have to remind you what the punishment is for such a crime. 

I haven’t told Guinevere that I’m writing you yet. I think you hurt her even more than you did me. If not by the betrayal itself, then by obeying your sentence of banishment. I used to think she chose me willingly, but I am starting to suspect that you made her do so, undoubtedly from some misguided notion of chivalry. You have a lot of those, and they never did you any good. Maybe you should learn to be selfish for a change. 

There’s not been many wars these past two years. One starts to get bored when there are no monsters to fight. I can only imagine how bored you must be in your little cottage in the woods. Hasn’t it grown tiresome by now? Are you not wishing you could come back? 

I’m not saying you could. I’m just saying that maybe, you should consider showing remorse. Like selfishness, it’s not an emotion either of us know how to handle well, but I think you could truly benefit from both. It’s been a while, but if the squire’s tales are anything to go by, you are still fit for battle. You will never be able to become a knight again - you broke too many promises for that privilege to be given back. But a guard, perhaps, or a simple peasant. It cannot be worse than what you are now. A banished beggar, hiding between the trees. 

You would have to beg, though. It would take a lot to satisfy my anger. Two years have done nothing to quell it, and...

This doesn’t really come across, does it? I figure it’s quite silly to express anger on paper, when the reader is probably laughing at your rightful words. It’s silly of me to even write you at all. I should send a patrol around the forest, to execute you if you dare to set foot inside my lands.

Alright, here’s the thing: I only think of you when I’m angry. Whenever I’m angry, you’re there. Smiling at me with that angelic smile, as if your one goal was to serve me and protect all those under my care. You’re always so righteous. It enrages me. 

When I’m not angry, though, you never pass my mind. It’s too much to bear. But I’m not angry now. I’m holed up in an empty room in the middle of the night, writing you for the first time in years. I cannot bring myself to be really angry, and I cannot bring myself to lay down this pen and think of other things. There are no other things to think of at this hour. 

I have everything a man could wish for. I am the king of a rich and flourishing country. My people are happy and safe. I am married to Guinevere, the best queen anyone could wish for. I have it all. And it’s still not enough.

Gwen alone would be enough for you. I understand that now. I think she does, too. I don’t know why it isn’t enough for me.

She stopped sleeping in my bed a long time ago, but the other night she came by to show me her locket. It’s the golden one that was made for her when we married. There is place in it for two locks of hair. One of mine, one of our child, you understand? Mine, she has carried for a while now. The other side had thus far remained empty. I thought it might stay that way forever. But she showed me, the other night. She said you gave her a lock of your hair once, before going on some “stupidly dangerous quest” (she sounded quite mad when she said that). I don’t know where she kept it all that time, but she kept it. And now it rests with mine in the locket above her heart. I thought you might want to know.

I really shouldn’t send this letter. It’s making me sound like an idiot. But it’s so late, it’s almost morning, and George is a punctual man. I won’t have time to write another letter before he wakes me, and I don’t have the presence of mind to mull over my words too much. You’re banished, anyways. And I’m the king. You’ll never be able to use all this against me. I’ll just make sure not to use the royal seal - then I can deny everything if you should ever try to show this to another living soul. 

I don’t want to talk about the other soul living with you. Or at least, I presume he lives with you. Then again, he was always better at manipulation than he was at loyalty. Maybe he has left you for someone else by now. You should reconsider giving up your freedom for such a man. Either way, you can never show him this letter. That is an order.

It’s just that. I don’t know. My head hurts and I can’t sleep anymore. I can’t go to Gaius; he won’t look me in the eye. The knights are different, too. They still obey, but they don’t feel like friends anymore. Gwaine left not long after you did. Maybe he even came to visit you, I don’t know. I don’t know anything these days. If he does come by, send him my regards. Or maybe, don’t. He’ll just get smug about it. But do tell me if he came by. I worry for his safety almost every day. How that man managed to keep his head on his shoulders for so long is a mystery. Then again, that seems to be a recurring character trait in the people I meet.

Forgive my messy writing, my hand is starting to cramp. I’m not used to writing letters anymore. Most servants seem desperate to let me dictate while they write down my every word. But I can hardly tell them to write a letter to the man who betrayed me, can I? I don’t even know if I can tell myself such a thing. 

It’s cold here, now. I know that’s to be expected from a winter night, but it still makes me shiver. I hope you built your little hut of more than just wood. Or maybe the weather outside Camelot is kinder. 

I should also probably tell you that I know. I’ve known for a while now. There aren’t a lot of reasons for a queen to travel to the border without her husband. You don’t have to worry, though. I won’t punish her for choosing freedom. I can understand that. It might be the one thing about her I can understand better than you do. 

I hope she enjoyed her time with you. I should rephrase that: I know she did. When she came back, there was a trouble lifted from her eyes. I never noticed her frown until you took it away. 

Perhaps she should go again. I can have some horses prepared, send a trustworthy knight with her. Did she share some of the food I made her bring? I’ll make her bring even more. Some of Cook’s blueberry pies, a bit of meat. It all tastes like dust to me anyways. I’ll just tell her it’s for during her travels. I’m not sure if she believes me, if she buys the whole clueless act, but we have a silent understanding not to talk about these things. So Gwen goes away and I pretend not to know where to, and she pretends not to see how bad I am at pretending. 

Sometimes I worry for the sanity of my people. What person would obey a king that gets cheated by everyone he knows? His father, his sister, his wife, his friends. I wouldn’t listen to one word of such a king. Then again, I already don’t. I used to think it was impossible to fall asleep while giving a speech, but my council meetings have taught me otherwise. It’s quite an impressive feat, if I may say so myself. It sure took a lot of practice to keep the mouth moving while the mind went out of the window. By now, I’ve become so proficient, nobody notices anymore.

Nobody notices anything in this castle, actually. Someone could enter the city in a dark cloak and ask to be brought to the queen, and the guards would probably let him in without even looking at his face. He could stroll through the corridors like he’d lived there, and visit her without anyone batting an eye. Of course, he’d have to know that she stays in the King’s quarters now, and perhaps be acquainted with a secret passage or two. He wouldn’t even have to worry about me being there - I moved back to the room I occupied as a prince. He could come and go like a thief in the night, and no one would know any better. I suppose it’s lucky there aren’t many threats to my kingdom anymore, or else we’d all be dead in seconds.

I don’t even think I’d mind anymore. Death was always a stranger to me, something to be feared. But by now, I know it almost as well as I know myself. I am done trying to run from it, trying to bestow it upon another who doesn’t deserve it. I still fear death, I can be honest about that. But I trust it too, it’s undeniable dependency, and there is something to be said for that.

Can I really be honest? Can I be the most honest with you? 

I miss you. Gwen misses you. Everyone misses you. Everyone misses him as well. And I miss him more than I can bear. 

I can no longer say with full conviction that you are the one who should apologise to me. You were just trying to protect a friend. It was unfair to make you choose. I shouldn’t have punished you for your kind heart. You were the loyal and brave protector of the powerless - such a wrong word to describe him with - and I punished you for that. You shouldn’t have to apologise for that.

I’m glad you were there to stop me. I was in such a frenzy, I dread to think what I might have done. All this time, I hoped that sending you away would ease the pain, would soothe the humiliation, but instead it has magnified every feature of my shame. I tell myself I wouldn’t have hurt him, but I fear that is a lie. I know now why he had to hide, why he feared my reaction - he was right to. I proved myself to be no different from my father, no different from who Morgana thought me to be. I thought myself a just and honest man. I know now, I have always been scared.

I don’t think I need to tell you, but he meant so much to me. He means so much to me, still. I’ve tried to say his name, and found myself unable, as if it is a spell my conscience will not let me pronounce. I have always been careful with my heart, guarded it with everything I had, and he just waltzed in and turned everything into a giant mess (much like he used to do to my chambers. They are always impeccably clean these days). I was so scared of what that meant, for me, for the future of Camelot, for my father. I told myself to be careful, to not trust too easily. But then my father turned out to be a liar, and responsible for my mother’s death. Morgana lied, too, so many, countless times. My uncle, my advisors, every other person I met. And there was only him left. 

I understand now that this is my fault. I never told him how I felt. How could I expect him to know how much he meant to me if I didn’t tell him? I suppose I just expected him to understand. I expected him to stay forever, so there’d be plenty of time to talk. I shouldn’t have treated him thus for a crime he didn’t choose to commit, but I was punishing him for the crimes of all those before him, too. 

So I’m glad you were there. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I had injured or killed him. It wasn’t his fault that his betrayal was the one to finally break my heart.

Neither of you has to forgive me; I won’t blame you if you don’t. But I still ask for your forgiveness, with hope. Ignore the words I wrote before - your exile ends today. If you ever choose to come back to the castle, let me know. You can look over the laws I will set up. It’ll take a while, a year or so, but then magic will be legal again. With all the power this kingdom brings, this is the only thing I can do. It doesn’t feel like enough. I think it’ll never feel like enough. But it’s not as a king that I beg your forgiveness. It is as a man. Hopefully one day, it’ll be as a friend. If I haven’t wasted my chance for that privilege to be given back.

Yours sincerely, 

Arthur

  
  
  


* * *

A guard tells him of three hooded men entering the citadel, though only two make it to the castle gate, the other undoubtedly prioritising the tavern. Arthur has to lay his quill down, for his trembling hands threaten to spoil the whole scroll of laws. The magistrates, advisors, councillors are dismissed. When he gets to his rooms, they are no longer empty. 

He’s skinnier now, after two years time, and there’s a stubble on his cheeks that makes him look much older. His cloak is warm but worn. There is such sadness in his eyes. It breaks Arthur’s heart to know he caused it. 

“Merlin,” he whispers, and it’s not a spell at all, it’s a prayer. It’s an endless prayer for forgiveness, of hope, and he doesn’t notice his tears until Merlin wipes them away. 

“You’re a prat,” he says. His old carelessness is gone, but Arthur laughs all the same. And then Merlin smiles too, that earth-shattering smile that seems to erase all the creases from his forehead, and all the loneliness in Arthur’s chest. And when Merlin leans over to kiss him, both hungry and kind, so wild yet forgiving, Arthur melts into him without a doubt in the world. 

He is done with fear. Done with hiding. This is all he wants. And it’s more than enough.


End file.
